


Throw My Troubles

by LongWayDown (WhatAboutAngels)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Platonic McCree and Reaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatAboutAngels/pseuds/LongWayDown
Summary: Jack Morrison wanted the coked-up kid out of his interrogation room and enough intel to take out the rest of Deadlock.Neither of those things happened.(The golden age of Overwatch, starting from the time McCree joins.)
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Jesse McCree & Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Throw My Troubles

Strike Commander Jack Morrison watched the teenaged cowboy fidgeting with the cuffs through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. 

The boy was younger than expected to be sitting in that room, the bleeding from a bullet wound in his leg having finally stopped after staining his jeans a darker color than they already were. His leather jacket had the sleeves chopped off, a green bandana was tied around his neck, shaggy dark hair hung over his face, and honestly Jack would have thought he was a scrappy farm boy from back in Indiana were it not for the tattoo covering his left forearm: Deadlock Rebels. The gang had popped up on Overwatch’s radar a few years back when they began intercepting weapons being delivered by train to Watchpoint: Grand Mesa through Route 66. Originally, they had wondered if it was an Omnic Rights group attempting to protest their presence in the area, but after sending agents in to do recon, it had been revealed that the real problem was this group of kids who had got it in their head that arson and weapons trafficking made them cool. Somehow, the coked-up teenager in front of him had been one of their leaders.

The man beside him broke the silence: “You wanna do bad cop, worse cop? Don’t think you can pull off good cop dressed like that, and I may be versatile, but nice is really out of my acting range.” Crossing his arms, he smirked, watching Jack’s reaction to the felon he had just brought in.

Gabriel Reyes was probably right - Jack had on his uniform which emphasized his rank (making up for the lack of rank he held outside of this organization) and intimidated most prisoners he went in to interrogate. For a kid and a felon, it would be difficult to try a “good cop” routine looking like this. Might as well just lean into Imminently Menacing Authority. 

“Have we ever tried a different strategy?” Even without the uniform, he couldn’t pull off the same level of intimidation as Gabriel. No matter how long and hard he tried to shake it, the wholesome-Indiana-farmboy vibes never left him, and apparently that’s the kind of man the world wanted to follow. Men like Gabriel ensured that they did. 

Gabriel’s voice brought Jack out of strategy and back to the conversation: “Not in a million years. But he’s just a kid, he’s literally vibrating from all the coke he’s on, and this’ll give him a chance to get out of dealing with my methods.” 

Jack only shook his head before heading toward the door. He was doing the kid a favor, honestly. He’d seen what Gabriel could do to a prisoner, and it was rarely pretty. 

Squaring his shoulders, he entered the room, trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact with the kid. Now that he was closer, it seemed like all the fidgeting with the cuffs had been an attempt to pick the lock with a chewed off fingernail. Jack didn’t have time to go into all the ways that never would have worked, but it was good to know that the kid was more than willing to try, even if the methods were dumb as all hell. Meant Jack would just have to keep a closer eye on him. 

He took his seat across from the boy, giving the kid a chance to speak first before filling the silence. “This is one hell of a situation you’ve managed to get yourself in, kid. Do you know who I am?”

The only reaction he received from the suspect was a slight shrug.

“My name is Strike Commander Jack Morrison. I’m the head of Overwatch.” That got him to look up, and Jack almost wished he hadn’t, ‘cause the immediate glint in the kid’s eye wasn’t the fear or contrition he’d been hoping for. 

“Overwatch, huh? Didn’t know y’all had any interest in some small town kids like us. Gettin’ bored without a war on?”

Ignoring the kid’s commentary was in everyone’s best interest, but it needled at Jack. “What’s your name?” They had a theory based on intel that Gabriel had acquired prior to the strike, but considering a distinct lack of legal information on the individual in front of him, he needed to be sure.

“John Reid.”

“Nice try, Lone Ranger. Want to give it another shot before this gets worse for you?” Jack could feel a headache coming on. 

“Dunno, fresa. I’m just a dumb country kid, but this looks pretty worse to me.”

“You’re looking at life in prison. I can help with that. You’ve just gotta give me something to work with.”

“I’ve been told I’m ‘piece of work’ enough. Wouldn’t want to overload you. Not when you must be busy, being all official and shit. If you really gotta know, though, my name is Hugh Jass...”

Jack had to tune out of the conversation while the kid kept rambling about nothing. The headache was getting worse. 

Every once in a while, he would check back in to make sure he wasn’t missing anything actually usefull: “Y’know, I’d think that people had more rights than this, y’know? Like, isn’t there a right to a lawyer or somethin’?”

“How many people d’ya think are watching us right now? Are they trying to psychic analyze me?”

“A’ight, you finally got me. My name is Bananaman McLeod, famous bandit, and I’m sure you just didn’t recognize me without my bright yellow suit and domino mask.”

Jack finally looked up from where he had buried his face in his hands. “Son, you have one more chance to help me out. Just one. After that, I get my colleague in here to talk to you, and I can guarantee you don’t want that. Is there anything you can give me to help that conversation go a little easier?”

The kid seemed to really consider for a minute before, faster than Jack could stop him, he jerked upright to headbutt the commander directly in the face. “Chinga tu madre!”

Crying out in anger and surprise, Jack leapt to his feet, hand flying up to try and staunch the bleeding coming from his nose. He could feel himself turning red, and the scrawny kid looked way too smug. Gabriel was definitely rolling on the other side of the mirrored glass. Jack couldn’t wait to let him at the kid. Or, as the case may be, the kid at him. 

“Alright, son. Have it your way. Commander Reyes will be with you in just a moment.” With that, Jack stormed out of the room to the predictably amused Gabriel waiting. 

Gabriel was unabashedly gloating, still leaning slightly against the glass from where he had been laughing “You should have fucking seen it. A whole goddamn science experiment: SEP or cocaine - which has a greater effect on a man’s reflexes? Stay tuned to find out.”

Jack was not inclined to give him any more of a reaction than he already had.“Shut the fuck up and go talk to him.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. He’s got fucking balls on him, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah. Sure does. Now get the hell in there so I can watch you get the run around from a teenager.”

Gabriel saluted before heading in, smile not yet faded.

Jack got to watch through the glass as Gabriel put his game face on and sat down across from the gang leader. The two just sat there and looked at each other for a minute before the boy broke the silence.

“No hablo Ingles.” The kid looked smug, even with his ridiculous cowboy hat fallen across one of his eyes after the move he had pulled with Jack.

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “I just watched you talk to Jack for twenty goddamn minutes. Not gonna fly.”

“No hablo Ingles.”

“Bien, entonces hablaré Español. ¿Cómo te llamas, pendejo?”

“Fuck.”

Gabriel’s lip twitched into a ghost of a smile. “Oh, so we’re back to English, then. I can work with this, too. So, about what happened with Jack back there.”

“What about it?” The prisoner went to cross his arms, only to have them jerked back by the cuffs attached to the table. He tried to play it off, but his fidgeting only intensified afterwards.

“That was a great fucking move, kid. Honestly, made my week.” 

“Why, ‘cause now you have an excuse to beat the shit out of me? Because I will definitely do the same shit with you, see if I don’t.” 

“Nah, because it’s goddamn hilarious when someone gets one on him. Thinks he’s all invincible and shit, but the shock on his face - gonna have to find it on surveillance.” 

Gabriel Reyes was an asshole.

A tentative smirk appeared on the kid’s face, and he sat back in his chair. “Trust me, it was better up close. Would love a copy of it to watch in prison, just saying.”

“See, that’s the thing, flaco, I’ve been thinking - might be able to offer you a deal.”

Jack heard the prisoner groan. “Didn’t you see how that went for the other guy? I don’t got anything to give you.”

“Not that kind - an out. You can either spend the rest of your life in a max security prison, tried as an adult, and hope that Deadlock protects you instead of throwing you to the wolves. Or, alternatively, you can come work for me. Take care of Overwatch’s dirty work, shoot some things, blow some things up, actually make a difference that isn’t single-handedly putting a dent in the world’s supply of cocaine. What do you say?”

Jack’s eyes widened, and he pounded on the glass twice, hoping that Gabriel would get the message and get out so they could talk this through. And, by talk this through, Jack meant give him a fucking earful. Gabriel’s offer had not been cleared with him, much less Petras and the higher-ups. Bringing in a gang leader to work in a top secret division of Overwatch was asking to be shot in the back at first possible opportunity, and there was no way in hell Gabriel was going to get that kind of clearance for a teenager. 

His knocks were ignored, and by the time he stopped seeing red, Gabriel was shaking the kid’s hand: “Well, Jesse McCree, welcome to the team. Give me a minute to get some shit together, and then we’ll see about getting you transferred to medical for your leg.”

Jack didn’t wait for the door to close all the way before he was on Gabriel.

“What the hell are you thinking? That’s a felon, in there, and you’ve been in this business long enough that I thought it would take more than a suspect being young and nervous to make you forget what he’s responsible for.”

Gabriel shrugged, seemingly unphased by Jack’s outburst. “He’s fun and a good shot. We could use him.”

“He’s shaking from all the goddamn cocaine he’s on, and he started a weapons trafficking gang at God-knows how old. He’s a kid. How the hell are you even going to get approval for this?”

“Going to fill out some paperwork, I guess.”

“Fill -” Jack changed tactics, hoping that something in the discussion would get through to his partner. “Gabriel, we both know the kind of work you do. You’re going to force a kid into that? At least in prison, he might have options of protective custody, get an education. He won’t have to live with the shit you do. You’re just okay with that?”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “Better out here being useful than in there hoping he doesn’t get killed in prison for running his mouth.”

“I’m not approving this, Reyes.”

“I’m not asking you to. If I’ve gotta take it all the way up to Petras, then fine. But I want that kid on my team. You saw what he did to my agents. I’d rather have that beside me than against me or, worse, sitting in a cell somewhere wasting away.”

Jack forced his jaw to unclench, mentally hearing the lecture from his Overwatch-payrolled dentist about grinding his teeth for the upteenth time. “Then get him to medical and start collecting his real information. I don’t need issues of child endangerment and asset abuse on top of the shit storm this is already going to bring.”

Gabriel saluted, the grin never leaving his face as he turned back toward the interrogation room. “Yes, sir, Strike Commander Morrison. Right away.”

He was going to kill the man before this was over with.

**Author's Note:**

> I have compiled as much lore as possible from a variety of different sources into a Master Doc that I'm using to help with this fic. If you ever have questions about where something came from, DM me or comment and I'll send sources your way.
> 
> All Spanish is my own, and, as such, all mistakes are my own. I'm trying to pull specifically Mexican slang, but that's requiring third party sources since all the slang I know is either Argentinian or Columbian. If you have corrections/suggestions, please let me know. 
> 
> Fresa - Preppy, stuck-up  
> Chinga tu madre - Fuck your mom  
> No hablo Ingles - I don't speak English  
> Bueno, entonces hablaremos Espanol - Well then, we'll speak Spanish.   
> Como te llamas, penejo? - What's your name, dumbass?  
> Flaco - Skinny, Scrawny


End file.
